Chapter 27 #2
"Yes, you do." Sully's voice softens slightly. "You're just afraid of what happens if you try and fail."
Fuck. He's right. I feel it. I'm scared.
"What if I can't be what they need?" The question emerges before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I haven't allowed myself to be in weeks.
"You already are," Sully says simply. "You just have to believe it and live it."
He drains the last of his beer, and sets the empty bottle on the counter.
He looks me in the eyes and says, "The team needs their captain. Not just his body—his heart, his focus, his leadership."
I swallow hard.
He walks to the elevator. He gets on and nods goodbye.
I'm alone again, but I'm not spiraling.
I walk back to the window and I notice my legs don't feel as heavy.
The apartment feels different after Sully leaves, his words won’t leave me alone.”Different poison, same result.”
I sink onto the couch, my busted up hand throbbing in time with my pulse. As it starts to fade, my phone lights up on the coffee table. A FaceTime call from Jessica’s number. My heart lurches.
I glance at the time—9:17 PM and answer.
Tyler's face fills my screen, too close as always. He's in his bed. His hair is a mess. God, I love this kid.
It’s way past his bedtime. Jessica must not know he's calling. I take a deep breath, composing my features into something resembling normal before answering.
"Hey, buddy." I force warmth into my voice.
"Hi, Daddy." His voice is smaller than usual.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" I ask gently, already noting the subtle signs that something's wrong—the slight downturn of his mouth, the way his fingers fidget with the edge of his blanket.
"Mommy said I could call you before bed." He shifts, sitting up a little straighter. "I wanted to say good night."
"I'm glad you did. I miss you."
"Miss you too." His eyes dart away, then back to the screen. "Are you coming to get me this weekend?"
The question stabs at me. Our usual rhythm—my parenting time, our weekends together—disrupted by the custody battle. "I hope so, buddy. I'm trying to work things out with your Mom."
He nods. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he asks the question I've been dreading: "Daddy, why doesn't Reese come anymore? Is she mad at me?"
I feel like I’m going to throw up. In the chaos of trying to protect everyone, I never considered that Tyler would think he was somehow at fault.
"No, buddy." My voice roughens despite my best efforts. "She's not mad at you. Not at all. It's... complicated."
The word sounds as hollow as it feels. Tyler's brow furrows, not satisfied with my non-answer.
"But she's not there when I come over anymore," he persists. "And I asked Mommy, and she said sometimes grown-ups stop being friends."
Of course Jessica would frame it that way. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to say something I'll regret. "Reese and I are still friends, T-Rex. She's just... she can't be with us right now. It's a grown-up thing."
Tyler wipes his nose with his sleeve. "I miss her playing with us. And her hugs." His eyes shine with unshed tears. "She gives the best hugs."
"I know, buddy." I struggle to keep my voice steady. "I miss her too."
"Can you tell her I said hi?" he asks, hope brightening his features. "And that I miss her? And that I can’t wait to see her again soon?"
I nod. I can't speak—my voice would crack and Tyler would know. "I'll tell her." I manage.
We talk a little longer—about his day at daycare, about a new dinosaur book Jessica bought him, about nothing and everything. When his eyelids start drooping, I tell him it's time for sleep.
"Love you, Daddy," he says through a yawn.
"Love you, T-Rex." I watch as he blows a kiss to the screen, his small hand waving before the call ends.
The apartment plunges back into silence. I sit in the darkness, Tyler's words echoing. I miss her playing with us. And her hugs.
I sit there twirling my phone in my hand.
Without thinking, I swipe to my photos, scrolling back through videos of game footage and playoff pictures with the boys until I find what I'm looking for—a selfie of the three of us at the Navy Pier Ferris wheel, taken just days before everything fell apart.
Tyler sits between us, his smile wide and gap-toothed, my arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other around Reese's.
Her cheeks flushed with cold and she looks so happy.
I'm not looking at the camera, I’m looking at them, so unguarded in my expression.
We look like a family. Not perfect, not traditional, but real. Connected.
I've been trying to protect my relationship with Tyler but what I’ve actually done is preventing him from having exactly what he needs most. I've been so focused on not being my father that I've failed to be fully myself.
I stand abruptly, pacing the length of my living room, energy surging through me despite my exhaustion.
I don't know exactly how to fix this. I don't know if Reese will forgive me, if Jessica can be reasoned with, if I can be the father and captain and partner everyone needs me to be.
But for the first time in weeks, my hands are steady. My mind is clear.
I can't keep living in pieces, compartmentalizing my life into separate boxes that never touch. I need to be whole—for Tyler, for the team, for Reese. For myself.
I look down at my phone again, at our smiling faces frozen in a moment of perfect happiness.
This is what I'm fighting for.
We have to be together.